


Getting Waspish

by Kittyknowsthings



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - All Media Types
Genre: Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Gen, Gratuitous Bracket Overuse, M/M, Other, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), The Bentley is also a Drama Queen, no update schedule because I am trying to live dangerously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittyknowsthings/pseuds/Kittyknowsthings
Summary: Aziraphale gets himself a scooter. Crowley and the Bentley do not take it well.
Relationships: Aziraphale & The Bentley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), The Bentley & Crowley (Good Omens), The Bentley & OC Vehicle
Comments: 26
Kudos: 33





	Getting Waspish

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as ever, to Darling Noriann/MilleVisages for cheerreading and tribble wrangling. 
> 
> You may also blame a delightful artist I cannot yet name because she hasn't gotten back to me regarding what name to credit her under, or how to link to her work, but I am impatient and posting on a whim because it's too hot to overthink. Will edit note later!

Aziraphale was late. 

Well, he wasn't already waiting at the entry point to the restaurant, hands folded in front of him, when Crowley swaggered to the restaurant a not-too-eager three minutes early (after parking out of sight fifteen minutes early and then playing candy crush for a while so he wouldn't seem desperate), but this was already out of character enough to send Crowley into an anxiety tailspin. 

Crowley _knew_ he shouldn't have let Aziraphale walk. "Oh, but I'll be meeting with a book collector close to the restaurant, dear", he'd said when Crowley had turned his "mind if I stop by early" into an offer to drive him, then. "You surely have better things to do than to chauffeur me and then wait while I talk books with a fellow collector for hours," he'd said. 

Crowley, did not, and in fact never would have anything to do that beat Time With Aziraphale in his personal estimation, but couldn't exactly voice that without sounding like an overenthusiastic puppy. 

The Bentley (of course he'd already been sitting in the car when calling, he'd considered turning on the motor so Aziraphale would Fuss Endearingly over the dangers of being on the phone while driving, but decided against it given Aziraphale's Baseline Anxiety Level had somewhat risen post Aflopalypse) with discouragingly little concern for his cool, had vroomed disapprovingly when Crowley acquiesced with a "See you later then, Angel" and hung up. 

At least she'd be too worried about Aziraphale to point out she'd told him so when they started their search-and-likely-rescue mission. 

"Hello, my dear!" the Angel said from an entirely unexpected direction, making him jump. 

Crowley had simply not considered a curbside parking spot a conceivable entry point for Aziraphale, but there he was, taking off a half helmet with wings on its side, revealing hair that was still unfairly fluffy. 

(Crowley's one and only attempt at riding a motorcycle, given their considerable cool factor, had immediately been declared a failure upon the discovery of the perils of Helmet Hair.) 

"What in the name of G-Sa-ADAM is this?" Crowley asked, himself not entirely sure if he was referring to Aziraphale's chosen mode of conveyance or the situation as a whole. 

Aziraphale, beaming, pulled off his goggles. GOGGLES! 

This increased the strength of his beam by approximately 20.000 Lux, but Crowley was too busy being horrified to properly appreciate it. 

"It's my new scooter!" Aziraphale said, blissfully unconcerned with (or more likely entirely oblivious to) Crowley's impending discorporation.

"It's an abomination is what it is!"

"Crowley! How can you even _say_ that!" Aziraphale turned to the _sky-blue Vespa with tartan accents_ , gently patting its handlebar. "I'm sure he doesn't mean it, Darling." 

"D-d-DARLING?" Crowley stuttered. 

"She's still young, Crowley, she can't read you like the Bentley can! Come on, let's get inside, I'm quite peckish."

⁂

The Bentley was not pleased when Crowley returned without Aziraphale, even less so when Crowley seemed on the verge of tears and still very, very drunk. 

"I'm so sorry, Baby. We've been replaced," he said when he slid into the driver's seat, and at first, the Bentley feared the worst. But Aziraphale wouldn't get a car. He wouldn't. "He won't need us anymore. He's got. He's got" Crowley sniffed. "He got a scooter, Baby. Baby blue and his thrice-blessed tartan and-" He hiccuped as the Bentley rapidly re-evaluated her worst-case scenario. 

"He called her Darling!" Crowley wailed before dissolving into sobs. 

The Bentley, rightfully concluding he wasn't going to be in any state to drive, gently rolled onto the road as she took him home and seethed. 

_Darling?_

She'd been chauffeuring Aziraphale around for approaching a _century_ , she'd driven him through the aftermath of a bombings and taken Crowley to him while _on fire_ , only still on the roads by the Grace of Adam, and all she'd ever gotten was an absent-minded pat to her dashboard, and that usurping little future rustbucket got to be _Darling?_

This, the Bentley decided, meant War. 


End file.
